


no good deeds go unpunished

by kuro49



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Vigilantes, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Tumblr: hansencestadvent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2763779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Herc is on TV again, Chuck doesn't do the cleaning around the house, these two things come to a head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no good deeds go unpunished

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skysoblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skysoblue/gifts).



> Written for the prompt: _Spiderman!Chuck, Police Officer!Herc, Herc finds out Chucks seeeecreeeetttttt_ (in which spiderman became vigilante Striker instead because I've got my own beef with spiderman that no one needs me to get into.)
> 
> On another exciting note, um, this is my 100th pacific rim fic?!! (❁´ω`❁)ﾉﾟ.:｡+ﾟ

Chuck is lying sprawled across the length of the sofa when Herc comes home, cursing up a storm as he locks the front door behind him.

“—what’s the point of law enforcement if there’re fuckin’ vigilantes doing the enforcing ‘round here—”

“You’re on TV again,” Chuck calls out, around a mouthful of microwaved frozen dinner of what the packaging had _said_ was steak and potatoes. Chuck’s got his doubts about that, another bite and he’s mildly convinced they didn’t even try.

Chuck turns from a replay of today’s breaking news.

“So, who ruined your day, old man?”

As much as his kid’s going to be _that_ arsehole, he’s still kicking his legs off of the end of the couch to make room for his old man.

Herc drops down with a heavy heave, giving no mind to Chuck swinging his legs back up, up and into his lap. And he might be how Chuck likes him best, still in his uniform and unwinding from the day, but the clock on the wall reads three minutes to one in the fucking morning and Herc wants payback for the amount of paperwork he has to file thanks to an asshole in a mask.

“No boots on the carpet.” Chuck finally says at the silence, punctuating each word with a prod of his toes.

“You don’t even clean.”

His dad may be scowling at him but he is also toeing off his boots to rest his socked feet against the carpet. In good faith, Chuck extends a still cool bottle of the good brew that they’re almost out of. And even though it might only be half full, he’s got a feeling that Dad will take just about anything he can get at this point.

Chuck isn’t wrong. Herc has it to his lips in no time, his head tipping back to take a deep, long pull from it. And he can’t help but grin when he catches the sheen of Herc’s mouth, looking just as it would after Chuck gets his way again, “All the more reason.”

Herc fixes him with a glare but Chuck is also offering him his dinner so he answers with the deepest, darkest scowl in his arsenal that hasn’t been burnt out at work just yet, “Fuckin’ Striker.”

Chuck Hansen doesn’t laugh, he swears.

He also can’t believe his apparent luck, or lack of. Turns out, he is just as good at saving the city as he is at ruining his own sex life. Talk about retribution. He hands Herc the spoon he’s been using and easily tucks his sleeve over the bruise he got when he was tossed across the street by the arsehole in the mask calling himself Mutavore, like what the fuck is that even supposed to _mean—_ “Why,” Chuck asks, carrying on the conversation like he isn’t Striker in the flesh, “Did he do something?”

“Question’s more like what didn’t he do.” Herc replies with a spoonful of mash potatoes inches from his mouth, contemplates complaining some more before hunger wins out. And there are words like _witness interviews, property damage_ and a _fuck ton of paperwork_ in between bites.

Chuck’s intentions have been good, he swears.

It started with wanting to lighten his dad’s workload, with keeping the city his dad loves safe, and just that. If he ends up a little more than a bit addicted to the rush of adrenaline he gets when he’s going head to head with the city’s masked villains, well, Chuck’s not about to tell anyone.

“Paperwork.” Herc repeats, and that word is spit out with the kind of venom he knows his dad reserves for the interrogation room. “Just wait til I get my hands on him.”

Chuck doesn’t swallow, just shifts a little on the couch because while he might have a problem with authority, he’s got none when it comes to Herc having that authority. “Should I be jealous?”

Herc doesn’t roll his eyes at the question, just changes the channel before he has to watch that clip of him trying to apprehend those two masked arseholes again.

“Not unless he looks like you under that mask.”

 

Bonus:

Herc is standing right in the middle of the living room when Chuck comes home with a coffee in one hand and his course notes in the other. He is distracted enough not to hear the warning in his father’s tone when he asks.

“Do you have something to tell me?”

“Should I?” Chuck counters, looking around for a place to put down his things before his bag slips off of his shoulder too.

“How about a reminder, Chuck?” With every word grinded down to dust between his teeth, it is safe to say that Herc is fuming. “You’re not the one that does the cleaning ‘round here.”

It is finally then that Chuck looks to Herc, and sees the familiar colours of Striker’s costume in his father’s hands. Chuck doesn’t even try to protest his way out of this, just wonders how many sexual favours he can give in exchange to have Herc let him keep at this.

 

XXX Kuro


End file.
